


Take Me Back

by CardamomDaydream



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Kinda, M/M, Songfic, Time Skips, geralt's bad at communication, he is a bard of course song fics!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22280728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CardamomDaydream/pseuds/CardamomDaydream
Summary: I'm still undone, not quite youngBut I, I still tryCross my heart, now I hope to dieIt's been months since Geralt reunited with Jaskier and they still haven't talked about it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 219





	Take Me Back

**Author's Note:**

> Song is Hope to Die by Orville Peck  
> Which you should all listen to! (especially if you're reading this, duh!)
> 
> I don't write much, but couldn't get this out of my head and I knew no one else would.  
> I also have some locations and backstory from the games, but it's not necessary for you to have played them AT ALL

It had been two months since Geralt and Jaskier met up again. Two months since Geralt had limped into the inn a few days outside of Maribor. Ciri had whispered hours ago she could no longer feel her feet in the cold, and Roach could barely hold her head up. Gods they all just needed to sleep somewhere that wasn’t the forest, just for one night, to get the cold and ache out of their bones. He must’ve been too tired, too desperate for rest that he didn’t hear it until pushing the door open, but above all the noise that usually accompanied humanity, was that damn lute. He hated to admit it, but he could pick that lute out in a whole court band of them. The poor thing had been beaten and dragged across half the continent and though Jaskier would say it was “part of her charm”, it’s ability to be truly in tune were miles behind it. He had turned to leave immediately, not even stepping beyond the threshold, but stopped when he saw the weariness in Ciri’s eyes and knew he could not make her spend another night in the cold mud outside.

Jaskier noticed him eventually. After all, it was hard not to. He noticed Ciri too and for all the grief Geralt gave him, the man was smart, and he recognized the late Princess Pavetta in Ciri, knew of the Child Surprise and put the two together almost immediately. So for the last two months Geralt could not be rid of him. Jaskier claimed it was because Geralt couldn’t be trusted to keep another person alive, much less a child. He held his tongue when he wanted to jest back “I kept you alive, didn’t I?” If he did, Jaskier may remember the danger of traveling with a Witcher, of traveling with him, and so he said nothing. Besides, the two kept each other company without his input, chattering on about aristocrats Geralt didn’t recognize the names of and fineries they missed. The two laughed far more together than either ever had traveling with Geralt alone, and so he held his tongue, not wanting to spoil the happiness he had found himself surrounded by. Geralt knew it would only take a few misspoken words for it all to slip away. 

Which means he and Jaskier never talk about it. What had happened on that mountainside after the dragon. How long ago had it been? Geralt was awful with time, but he saw the way Jaskier’s hair had grown gray at the temples, and fell down nearly to his shoulders. They didn’t talk about that either. 

Two months since then and Geralt was sat in another tavern, coin significantly more plentiful now that Jaskier had joined their company. Ciri was already long asleep in the room upstairs, and if Geralt focused he could hear her soft breathing through the slats in the ceilings. 

The night had started as most did whenever the trio stopped in a new town, Geralt asking around for work while Ciri and Jaskier found them lodging and food for the next night or two. Geralt would join them for dinner, and then take Ciri to bed, checking window and door locks while waiting for her breathing to slow. Some nights took far longer than others, and Geralt would pretend not to hear her quiet sniffling and the smell of salt in the air. 

Whenever he would make his way to the tavern below, a mug of whatever this town considered alcohol would be sat at his seat and Jaskier would be dancing around the room, thrilling the audience with tales of adventures and monsters, or rousing them all into choruses of some bawdy drinking song. 

That had been hours ago, and now the bar was quieter. A few stray drunks, a couple softly giggling in the corner, and a group of weary travelers sat at the long bench near the bar were all that remained as most of the towns residents seemed to have returned to their homes for the night. Jaskier still sat leaned against the far wall, his songs a slow melody of romantic ballads and dreamy fantasy of life beyond this war. Jaskier never used to sing songs like that, but back then there had been no war to sing of. The times demanded a bit of hope for the common people after all, no matter how unrealistic. Besides, it seemed to turn out their pockets just as well. 

From the corner table, a drunk, whom moments ago was dead asleep, roused himself and heaving to his feet thrust his flagon into the air shouting “Sing us another song about that Witcher!” He collapsed back into his chair and returned to his drunken stupor. Geralt couldn’t help the soft huff of amusement as he brought his drink to his lips. 

Jaskier himself seemed equally enlivened with the outburst. “Well I couldn’t deny a request from one of my most uh, enthusiastic fans!” He smiled down at his lute and even after all these years Geralt would recognize the first note of the song Jaskier had written as they parted way from their first meeting. 

No notes followed. Geralt lifted his eyes questioningly and blue ones met his. Even from here Geralt could hear the shaky breath Jaskier took, before grounding his expression, and beginning to play. 

It was slow, the notes leaving gaps of silence between each other. Geralt had already become familiar with the new ballads and jigs Jaskier had added to his repertoire in their time spent apart and yet this one he didn’t know. Hadn’t even heard the bard humming the notes in their rides across the continent. Then, Jaskier began to sing. 

_ Gone was the way we were _

_ Just like the days we'd burn _

_ Everything 'round us would burn _

_ Take me back to the time _

_ I was yours and you were mine _

_ Take me back, the words I'd say _

_ I had to whisper _

_ Because you liked it that way _

-Several Years Before-

Geralt wanted nothing more than to sleep. He was warm, dry and safe as a Witcher could be for the first time in days. The bed beneath him stunk of mildew and sagged in the middle, but it certainly beat the ground. The afterglow of sex usually left Geralt content and peaceful, the darkness of sleep welcoming him into it’s embrace. However, it only seemed to renew Jaskier and he would effuse every new rhyme and song idea that came to his head. Unfortunately, most of them had to do with Geralt. 

“Do you think I can get away rhyming cock with ox?” Geralt groaned. “You’re right, bit too on the nose isn’t it.”

“What I think, is you need to be quiet.” Geralt mumbled into the sheets, burying himself deeper beneath them as if it would shield him from Jaskiers sound boarding. 

“Oh come now, I think I’m nearly done with the verse, and then it’s onto the one about your a-aAH-” Jaskier choked on the next word as Geralt turned over and grabbed him round the middle, pulling him close.

“Quiet.” Geralt breathed into Jaskier’s hair. It smelled of rosemary and wet horse. 

“I was just going to say your eyes.” Jaskier’s voice had dropped into a hushed whisper, his lips ghosting against where he was tucked into Geralt's throat. His hands wormed their way between them, and his fingers began to trace the lines of the medallion that hung from Geralt’s neck. He could never stay still or quiet and though Geralt would never admit it, he loved Jaskier’s fingers and how they played with whatever they could touch. He loved his mouth even more. 

“I could write a thousand poems about your eyes. I probably already have. There’s the obvious cat comparison, that’s easy enough.” His fingers found the strands of hair that had fallen onto Geralt’s chest and began to intertwine them. “And the color, well it’s not often you get to use crowns and celandine flowers to describe someone's eyes. Think of the potential.” His words were breathy and tickled across the stubble growing in on Geralt’s jaw. 

“But most of all. I could write about all the things you say with your eyes. You’re remarkably open with them despite your best efforts, I’m sure.” His nails lightly scratch along the back of Geralt’s neck and he suppresses a shudder. “How they light up when you’ve just finished cleaving the head off of whatever ghoul or fiend has decided to terrorize a town.” He hums into the Witcher’s cheek. “Like a fire reflecting off a golden war shield.” His hands press lightly to the back of his skull. “The softness when a mother thanks the mighty Witcher for saving her child, taking nothing more than her gratitude.” Fingers slip gently through tangles and undo the knot holding back his hair. “The hunger when I’m wearing that green outfit you love so much.” He nipped at Geralt’s earlobe. 

“Jaskier.” he said, tilting his head down to meet the bards.

_ I love you _

“Quiet.” he whispered against his lips. 

_ I'm still undone, not quite young _

_ But I, I still try _

_ Cross my heart, now I hope to die _

_ Was the way we were _

_ Just like you'd say, we'd turn? _

_ Everything 'round us, big burn _

All Geralt could smell was smoke. It burned all the way down to his lungs and overpowered everything else. Even the usual cloying smell of sewage and sickness from the poor town behind them was choked out by it. Jaskier stood by his side, close enough their arms brushed and yet Geralt could not smell the rosemary oil he knew was dabbed on his neck. It was all smoke. 

Together they stared out over the burnt fields, a whole town's crops turned to smoldering swaths of black. A few were beginning to pick along the edges, hoping to find anything saved. Geralt knew they would come up empty. The rest of the town only looked on, holding each other close or bent over with grief not knowing how they would survive the impending winter. 

The Baron hadn’t been happy with what the people said they could provide, and so he had his men burn it all instead. It was not the first time Geralt had witnessed the cruelty of man against his own kind, and he knew it wouldn’t be his last. Humans never lived long enough to remember the mistakes of those that came before them. 

“I think I’m going to stop traveling for awhile” Geralt turned his head only slightly to shift his gaze onto Jaskier. “It’s just, I know I signed on for monsters and mud halfway up to my ass, but I think I just need a break, Geralt. Time to...to think.” Jaskier wouldn’t meet his eyes, and his fingers twisted in a loose string on his doublet. Geralt wanted to reach out and steady his hands, but they stayed at his side. 

“Where will you go?” 

“I was thinking back to Oxenfurt, for a bit at least. My friend Shani wrote to me awhile back saying she had just returned from a trip around Lyria and they’ve created a rather popular new rhyme scheme I’d love to take a look at.” His hands fell, knuckles brushing against Geralt’s as they did. “Maybe she could also tell me a bit about Rivia since you never do.” He laughed out the last part and gave Geralt a gentle nudge in the side, though it did not have the spark that usually accompanied Jaskiers banter. 

Geralt wanted to tell him he knew nothing of Rivia, of Lyria, that he had never been and even his own title was a lie. Instead he turned toward Roach and began to walk away from the scene, from Jaskier, scared the words would spill out if he looked at him for even a moment longer. 

“Do what you wish, you are not bound to me.” he grunted, heaving himself up onto the saddle. 

Jaskier looked up at him, blinking quickly, perhaps from the sun or smoke, perhaps something else. “Right, right. Well I guess I’ll just be off then. Jaskier, on his own again. Maybe I can use this time to write songs about myself. The handsome nightingale who has charmed his way into the hearts of every maiden who heard his call. Can’t let you keep getting all the glory!” He turned, with far more flourish than anyone other than Jaskier would normally put into the action before setting off down the road. 

“Jaskier!” Geralt called out, and the bard stopped, turning to face his friend once more.

_ Don’t go. I need you now more than ever. I cannot think what my life will return to without you by my side.  _

“Don’t get yourself killed.” was all he said. Jaskier gave him a solemn nod, then took his leave. Geralt watched, until he disappeared into the smoke. He sat even longer until he could no longer hear the sound of his footsteps, or the tune Jaskier had begun to play. All he could hear was the crackling of cinders, and the lament of the townspeople. He roused Roach into a slow trot and headed off in the opposite direction towards the stone manor he knew lie just over the hills. He had a monster to kill after all, even though no one was paying for him to slice it’s throat. 

  
  


_ Take me back to the time _

_ I was yours and you were mine _

_ Take me back to the world I know _

_ You were crying _

_ They don't cry when we're gone _

_ "The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it! If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take  _ **_you_ ** _ off my hands.” _

It took the entire trek down the mountain for Geralt's boiling anger to simmer into a far more painful burn of regret, heartache and loneliness. How he wished what they said about Witcher’s not having feelings were true. He had been alone for so long, why did the loss of these two people hurt him so? 

A part of him had thought he’d push through the doors of the inn at the base of that mountain, and he be greeted by the sound of whatever new song Jaskier had written about slaying the mighty dragon on top of its peaks. It would be filled with nothing but lies, as he somehow managed to sleep through the whole thing, but the crowd would be enraptured anyways. His blue eyes would meet gold and, making his way towards the door, he would place a warm hand on Geralt’s shoulder telling him he hoped he was over his foul mood.

Instead it was nothing but the usual idle chatter and clink of dishware that was found in any inn across the north. He slumped into his seat by the fire, hoping to maybe catch a scent of rosemary, but it was nothing but stale beer soaked into dirty floors and the sour sweat of farmhands and loggers. 

Geralt stayed there for 3 days, hoping to catch Jaskier on his way down from the mountain to say...something. Geralt didn’t know what he would say. Usually Jaskier would just say it for him, translating his curt answers and grunts into whatever response fit his narrative. He rewrote it over and over again in his head, the words that would fix what he had broken. When he lies on his bed at night in the dark he would try saying them aloud, but could never get past “Jaskier, I..” before his tongue felt like stone in his mouth. 

It was seven weeks later, when he had traveled into Oreton, that he heard about Jaskier again. They had been there a few years back, taking care of the wraiths that had sprung up in the old crumbling tower on the village’s outskirts. The tavern keeper still remembered him, and as she slid the mug of cider across the bar she spoke. 

“Your bard was in here just a few days ago. Wouldn’t sing for us though, damn shame since folk are still talkin’ about the two a ya after all these years. Though I suppose not much ‘as happened since then.” Her head was resting on her hand, and she stared at Geralt with eyes far too kind for any Witcher. “Said he was headin’ north toward Blackbough to catch a ship. I’m sure if ya rode fast enough you’d catch ‘im.” 

Geralt stared into his mug as if maybe it could finally put together the words in his head. That next morning he rode east to Lurch which had been abandoned to ghouls. Killing monsters had a simplicity that words did not, and he lost himself in that comfort. 

_ I'm still undone, not quite young _

_ But I, I still try _

_ Cross my heart, now I hope to- _

-Present-

Geralt heard it all, remembering every moment when he could have said anything to let Jaskier know what he meant to him. He still clutched his cup, halfway to his lips for he could not stand to take his eyes off Jaskier afraid he would lose this moment too. 

Jaskier paused, and even through the dusty and dim tavern air Geralt could tell his eyes shone with tears not yet fallen. His fingers began moving again, snapping across the strings of that old lute, fast and desperate. Yet his eyes did not leave Geralt’s. 

He wanted nothing more than to stride across the dirt floor, and take those hands in his. To spill out how he shouldn’t have yelled at Jaskier all that time ago. How he was hurting, but never should have hurt him too. He was never good at talking, still wasn’t, but in this moment it didn’t seem to matter if the words were eloquent enough for the bard, just that he said something. He should say how much Jaskier meant to him, as the first person to ever truly treat him as someone worth loving. How much he loved Jaskier in return. Even now if Jaskier would not have him back, not how they used to be, Geralt still wanted him to know that his presence was more than Geralt felt he deserved. Somehow, Jaskier had managed to say it all in one song, his voice rising into the last chorus.

_ And I'm still undone, I'm not quite young _

_ But I, I still try _

_ Cross my heart, now I hope to die _

_ Cross my heart, now I hope to die _

That night, as the two lay across from one another, illuminated only by the single candle flickering near the door Geralt whispers, “Jaskier, I…” and he does not stop talking. 


End file.
